


Spaghetti and Afters

by debl_ns



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:11:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debl_ns/pseuds/debl_ns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew spaghetti could be sexy? When Sam's eating it, it is. Gene's dirty-minded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spaghetti and Afters

**Author's Note:**

> Posted at jointhehunt; kink meme fill for sam/gene, talking about sex, before they've ever had any together.

An unlit cigarette hanging from his lips, Gene pushes against the door of Sam's flat with his shoulder and feels it give way. He walks slowly around the bedsit--a tasteless mixture of browns and oranges--and sweeps his eyes over the faded papered walls, single bed and brown leather armchair. The worn wood table and chairs is set for tonight's tea with cutlery, a bowl of freshly grated Parmesan cheese and a plate of bread.

Sam is stirring a pot. The sleeves of his blue shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing pale toned forearms. “Are you really so unfamiliar with knocking?” he murmurs.

There is a lingering odour of red pepper. Gene checks his watch; it's half-seven. The smell is making him hungry. “Bloody hell, Sam, why does your place have to be sandwiched between a row of curry houses?”

“You like curry.”

“I prefer to eat it, not wear it. I reckon it'll take days to get rid of the smell.”

“Stop complaining and take your coat off.”

Gene ignores him and inhales deeply, frowning. “It's overpowering my cologne.” Finally, he removes his camel coat and tosses it on the bed.

“Would you like a brew?”

Gene makes his his way to the small fridge. Inspecting the contents, he takes out a bottle of bitter. “Fancy a cold one instead.”

“Good,” Sam approves. “Get one for me and grab a chair.”

Gene lowers himself heavily into the seat. It's almost too small for his large frame. He holds his cigarette for a moment, wondering whether to light it. He puts it on the table. Sam sets a steaming plate of spaghetti, topped with tomatoes, fresh basil and dried hot red pepper in front of Gene, along with a serviette. “Tuck in before it gets cold,” Sam says.

Gene fingers the serviette. “What's this for?” he asks.

“For? It's a thing you put in your lap to keep food from falling on your clothes.”

“Shut it,” Gene says without anger. He leaves it on the table.

Sam brings back his own plate, pushing his serviette into his collar. He spoons the cheese on top of the pasta then uses his fork to toss it with the sauce. He plunges it into the pasta, spearing a few strands. He twirls his fork, wrapping the spaghetti around the prongs. Gene forks his way into his plate, eating with great relish. “Dog's bollocks, this,” he tells Sam through a mouthful of spaghetti.

Sam opens his mouth wide, shoving in the fork. He wraps his mouth around its base and moves it down, removing the spaghetti with firm pressure. With his lips wrapped around my cock, I could really let loose, Gene thinks. He coughs uncomfortably.

Sam looks up. “Too spicy?” he asks.

“What?” Gene hopes his face doesn't give anything away. “No.”

Sam smiles and twirls his fork around, lifting it to his mouth with a few strands hanging. He sucks them in with a slurp. I'd like watching him suck me off, Gene thinks. “Ahem,” he coughs loudly.

Sam places his fork on the table beside his plate. “Are you getting a cold?” he asks gently. His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip, wriggles into the corner of his mouth, and flickers there like a flame, licking off a bit of sauce.

Sam's tongue could be licking and teasing my arse, Gene thinks, then darting against and into my hole. He shakes his head. “I'm … fine,” he replies, his voice rough.

Their eyes meet. Sam screws up his right eye. “Are you sure?” he repeats. “You sound croaky.”

Gene raises the bottle of bitter to his lips, bumping it against his teeth. He empties it and bangs the bottle down hard on the table. “Who are you, my nurse?”

“As in I care about you, yeah.” Sam rises to his feet, pushing his chair away, and walks to the fridge, fetching two more bottles.

“Well, I don't need looking after.”

Sam slides one across the table to Gene. “Ta,” Gene says and takes it from him. Sam sits, pressing his own bottle against his lips and swallowing.

Sam could be smearing lube on his hole, Gene thinks. He could pull his legs back toward his head and guide me in. Gene feels himself getting hard. He looks down and sees a noticeable bulge in his trousers. He fumbles for the serviette, crushing it in his hand, and drops it in his lap. He takes a slice of bread and dips it in the remaining sauce on his plate but he just moves it around.

Sam clears enough space on the table for dessert. He notices Gene's untouched bread. “Take your plate? There's custard and pud--”

“I don't give a toss about afters!” Gene blurts, more harshly than he intends.

Sam shifts uneasily in his seat. “What's going on, Gene?”

Gene examines the label on his ale then drains a good portion of it, wiping his hand across his mouth. “Leave it, Sam.”

“Gene?” Sam presses, leaning forward and looking him in the eyes.

Gene's shirt is sticking to his back like wet leaves on the pavement. What does he have to lose by answering? God help him, only the most important thing of all. “It's daft. A stupid daydream,” he says at last.

Sam touches his arm. Gene finds comfort in the intimate gesture. “Sam ...” he mutters. There's a crease between Sam's eyebrows. This could be very bad indeed. Gene's desperate for the fag. Instead, he crushes his mouth to Sam’s lips.

Sam gapes at him, his cheeks turning red. “What--”

Sodding hell. “Not my fault you're thick.” Gene fixes his gaze on the armchair. It’s battered, tired, solitary--Like me, Gene thinks. “Why don’t you get rid of the bloody thing?” he says, his voice bitter. 

Sam's grip tightens on his arm. “Gene … Shit.”

Gene tears his eyes away from the chair. “Right. I need to bugger off back to the real world.”

“Tell me what you're thinking.”

Gene squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. “I know what I want. What I don't. And, right now, I want … you. I'd busy myself on your cock--I'd do whatever feels good, so you'd want more. I'd work on your hole with my finger, moving it slowly in and out. When you're ready for me, I'd push myself in. Deep. Deeper. I'd pin you down and fuck you hard. Faster and faster, watching my cock go in and out of your hole ...”

Sam opens his mouth to say something but Gene gets there first. 

“Shouldn't even have told you.”

Sam's eyes are intense; they're shining like they've been lit by moonlight. He's as eager as I am, Gene thinks. 

“Looks like we're having afters, after all,” Sam says.


End file.
